


A Million Dreams

by pilindiel



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, JeanMarco Gift Exchange, M/M, Marco Bodt POV, Marco thinks too much, Red String of Fate, Sasha is a meddler, Sort of a character study, Soulmate AU, blind dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 20:43:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17148788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pilindiel/pseuds/pilindiel
Summary: Marco never fully understood the thread tied around his pinkie finger. It was bright, vibrant and shining even on the darkest nights, but he could never truly feel it.  Brushing against his skin every now and then, it was more like a spiderweb than a string - a ghost of a feeling, a non-existent breeze.  But it marveled him by winding through the streets, up flights of stairs, tangled around college classrooms and weaved around dining room tables.  Marco could never find where it ended.Like a rainbow it was beautiful, but endless.  He spent countless nights lying awake wondering where the completed end would land, whether it be a pot of gold or something more.Soulmate/Blind Date AU for the JeanMarco Gift Exchange!





	A Million Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Android18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Android18/gifts).



Marco never fully understood the thread tied around his pinkie finger. It was bright, vibrant and shining even on the darkest nights, but he could never truly feel it.  Brushing against his skin every now and then, it was more like a spiderweb than a string - a ghost of a feeling, a non-existent breeze. But it marveled him by winding through the streets, up flights of stairs, tangled around college classrooms and weaved around dining room tables.  Marco could never find where it ended.

Like a rainbow it was beautiful, but endless.  He spent countless nights lying awake wondering where the completed end would land, whether it be a pot of gold or something more.

He asked his father once as a child what it was, what it stood for.  Marco’s father’s smile was soft, gentle and wistful, and he regaled Marco with stories of ancient traditions and links between souls, reincarnations and wayward lives.  Tethered for eternity.  

**_Not everyone sees them,_ ** he remembers in his father’s gravelly voice,  **_Only those deemed very special._ **

Even as a child, Marco was fascinated, copper eyes alight with excitement and intrigue, though the words never truly reached his ears.  He was young, after all - with more important things to worry about like soccer practice and homework. Why should he worry about souls?

Still, the information coiled around his heart, aching in a way Marco wasn’t used to, and the string around his finger tightened just a little.

He learns to ignore the incessant, gentle tugging, pretends he doesn’t spend nights staring at his pinkie, wondering where the ends of this metaphysical rope tie him.

It’s late at night in his dorm room when he contemplates the meaning of it, winding down from lectures full of math and chemistry that leave his mind buzzing with white noise.  He calls back to his father’s cautious, gentle words, and lets them fill his head as he tries to find solace in scratchy, too-thin Target-brand bed sheets and lumpy mattress.

Is it his future? He wonders, fingers twisting the sheets.  Will he wake up one day once he’s accomplished all his goals only for the string to vanish?

Or it is a warning?  The eventual, deafening toll of his death?  Will the string be cut some day by an unseen force and will Marco be rent in half, plastered against a distant, dirty wall and left as carrion for the flies and scavengers?

Marco shakes his head.

_No,_ he admonishes, _That can’t be it._  It feels so much sweeter, warmer. He rolls over, the old, plastic blinds cracked open just enough for the streaming of moonlight.  It shines on his hand, the red around his finger pulsing lightly, and Marco imagines a smile on the other end of this tether instead, soft lips and barking laughter.

It’s a comfort, and Marco smiles as he falls asleep thinking of the thousands of possibilities that could unfold.

Still, he doesn’t let it get in his way.  Marco is in his last year at college, prepping for a life of collegiate honors and research studies, and he certainly doesn’t have time to worry about a simple string no one else can see.

He’s typing away in the library on his laptop when the best - and worst - person in his life slides into the seat across from him.

Sasha Braus is a bouncy, excitable person, and she’s been stuck to Marco’s side since they were in kindergarten, fingers sticky as they exchanged crayons and construction paper during naptime.  Sasha was missing her bottom two-front teeth then, Marco the top two, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.

Marco isn’t sure where he would be in life without her.  He was there for her during her first break-up, her first period, her first Christmas without her father.  And she was there for him in turn - his first breakdown from stress when his parents were called to the school, his first admission of liking boys over girls, his first broken bone.

Through thick and thin they’ve been there for each other - going to the same university was just another, natural, next step.

She sits across from him now, chestnut hair tied back tightly and gaze intense, and Marco focuses more intently on the textbook by his side.  The tack of his keyboard is all that accompanies the silence before she speaks up.

“When was the last time you had a boyfriend?” she asks cryptically.

Marco’s fingers freeze over his laptop, eyebrow raised.  She knows damn well - he was sobbing drunkenly on her bathroom floor after it ended.

“Why do you ask?” he hazards instead.

“You need to get laid.”

Marco chokes on his own spit, neck burning.

“E-Excuse me?”

Sasha sighs, like talking to a child, and places her hands on the table.  “Marco Ford Bodt,” she says calmly, “As your resident best friend, I must tell you, you’ve become a bit of a recluse.”

His voice raises an octave, incredulous.  “I...I have  **_not_ ** .”

But she’s right, in a sense - Marco  **_has_ ** been reclusive, but certainly not out of choice.  Marco’s schedule is full of classes and tutoring, long nights spent on coffee and papers, and the only real food he gets every day is recycled into breakfast nachos the following morning.  It’s a cycle he knows he has to break, but the pattern is comforting, and Marco is nothing if not a creature of habit.

Sasha, in typical fashion, ignores him.  Instead, she pulls out a slip of notebook paper, sliding it across the polished wood like she’s a spy and it’s secret code.

“What - ” Marco questions, “- is that?”

Sasha grins, devilish and dangerous, and Marco’s blood runs cold.

“Your salvation.”

Dread settles in the pit of his stomach and like a death knell, Sasha flips the paper over.

Scrawled on it in Sasha’s scratchy, messy handwriting is a date, a time, a location, and a phone number.  The string tightens around his finger minutely and Marco gulps.

“Get ready, Bodt,” she states, “You’ve got a date tomorrow.”

He looks at the time, 11:00 am, and sighs.

**_Goodbye, breakfast nachos._ **

* * *

Marco has to admit, the cafe Sasha chose for this mystery date is actually pretty cute.  It’s tucked away in one of Jinae’s many suburbs, covered in old, decorative ivy and gingerbreading.  From Google Images alone it looks like something out of a fairy-tale book and looks beyond charming.

He’s running late, though, and that adds an extra uneasiness to churn his already turbulent stomach.  Jinae is surrounded by mountains that hate humanity more than they hate the shifting plate tectonics and the snow that usually stays perched on their delightfully distant peaks is now drowning them in inches of white fluff the city has no idea what to do with.

Marco’s bus was delayed by at least fifteen minutes and he’s just hoping off the slick rubber steps onto the pavement when he hastily texts the number scribbled on the notebook paper Sasha shoved in his pocket.

**To:**

**[Sorry, running a bit late.  The snow is killer]**

Marco hasn’t even pocketed his phone before it buzzes in his gloved hands.

**From:**

**[s alright.  jinae is shit at handling anything other than sun]**

Marco bites his lower lip to stop the spread of his smile.  At least this guy has a sense of humor.

He slips his phone into his jeans and adjusts the wrap of his scarf.  It’s freezing out - the snow is still falling around him in flurries, landing on his peacoat and sticking to the stripes on his hat - and Marco blows warm air onto his fingers.

The string around his pinkie feels tight, painfully so, but the thread is crushed and buried under the snow, red trapped under unending white.

Marco shakes his head, shrugs into his jacket, and takes off running.

The peaks of the cafe poke out from the rooftops in no time and his breathing is labored as he flips his phone out again.

**To:**

**[What are you wearing?]**

Marco flushes at the implication, immediately backtracking.

**To:**

**[To know who to look for!]**

**From:**

**[lol ur good]**

**From:**

**[just look for the asshole in the letterman jacket by the window]**

Marco laughs, heart skipping, and ignores the throbbing of his finger.

The cafe is relatively quiet and Marco is glad for it - Sasha knows he hates crowds, and he’s glad she didn’t lead him astray.  The charming facets of the exterior continue inside and Marco feels like he stepped back into the 1800’s, all hardwood tables and ornately cushioned chairs with flashy, Persian carpeting.  Some would call it ostentatious, but Marco thinks it’s kind of cute.

He spots his date almost right away - somehow, he feels hard to miss.  Jean Kirschstein is a little shorter than him, more wiry too, but he’s slender and agile in a way that makes Marco’s heart flutter.  HIs hair is flaxen, golden against the backdrop of the dim cafe lights, and he grins with his whole face, hazel eyes teasing.

“Let me guess,” Jean calls from across the shop, “ **_You’re_ ** my date?”

Marco flushes, tongue between his teeth, and tries not to smirk.

“Do you see anyone else stupidly out-of-breath?” he asks, making his way to the table.

“Not yet,” Jean muses, bringing a steaming, foamy mug up to his lips, “But I’ll let you know.”

The playful retort dies in his throat.  Around Jean’s pinkie finger is a string, taut and blindingly bright, and Marco’s hand shakes as he looks down at his own.  Two pinkies, looped together by a red string only one of them can see. 

**_Tethered for eternity,_ ** his father had said.  Marco’s chest warms immeasurably. 

“Marco?” Jean asks, concern etched between his brows, “You alright?”

“Uh, yeah,” he murmurs.  Nervous, excited energy bubbles up in Marco’s chest and a smile tugs at his lips.  He looks down at the menu before his gaze flicks back to Jean’s finger, traces the red around the digit before meeting Jean’s eyes.

“I’m great.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy JMGE, Android18!!! I sort of combined your favorite AU with you first prompt, so I hope that's alright!!!
> 
> I want to give a very special shout out to Christina/rhetoricfemme - she and I spend HOURS talking about Sasha and Marco as friends and I adore every moment of it. If I ever write a fic where they are NOT friends, just take me out 'cause it means I've been taken over by an impostor.
> 
> HMU on [tumblr](http://pilindiel.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/pilindiel) !


End file.
